FAUX
by Katherine-E-Kora
Summary: In London, nothing is as it seems. The AI project runs rampant in the city amongst the highest officials and wealthy, and rumors of eternal life are quickly spreading...people will do anything to get their hands on it. The only thing in their way is the Black Caps, an elite squad of soldiors hand-picked to erase all evidence of its existence.The long over-due sequel to HProtocol!
1. FILE ZERO-ONE

**File Main: FAUX**

**INTIAL LOG ENTRY BETA…USER: INNAPLICABLE**

…**TIME OF SUBMISSION: 14:45 SMT; 14 FEBRUARY, 2047**

…**Open Files? Y N**

…**Files in process…thank you for choosing GLADIATOR INCORPORATED, THE LEAD PRODUCER OF ELECTRONIC INTERFACE DEVICES SINCE THE FIRST GREAT WAR. TRUSTED BY ALL, HELPING TO YOU. **

…**FILE OPEN.**

**Partially corrupt. Continue anyway? Override safety hardware?...Y**

**Safety overridden.**

**Have a nice day.**

The rain patters and pours in pre-designated divots on the road's aged surface. All the years haven't done this city much good; time was not kind to those who waited. But, alas, the story must go on anyway. It cares not for those who love it most, or those who loved most in it. There is a certain riddle, a puzzle, to all of it, and the story revels in that fact; the fact that nobody is able to escape the clutches of the last page. Someday, everyone's book will come to an end. Someday, the last page will flip shut on them, leaving them in the dark.

Whether or not they are satisfied with their tale is a completely different matter; unlike the rest of the events, they can choose this. Fate does not hand them their choices.

And so, here are the paths that lie before you. Keep reading these entries in the hope that something will be cleared up, in the hopes that somehow there is happiness to all this misery. Or, you could close these files right now and leave it as it lies. After all, this story was never yours, this life was completely independent of you. You do not have to keep reading. Unless…you want to. Do you want to find out what happened to our strange and extraordinary folk while they spun their story? Do you want to see this to the end?

Well then, you've come to the right place.

I've recorded all these events and sent them to you so that you may see the truth, my dearest niece. Protect them, protect these files. They're all that remains of the past. Sadly, the chairman was able to erase all of the other evidence of his crimes before the end came. I'm hoping that together we can preserve this little piece of London. These things did happen! I have the proof of it here. So, even though it's raining where I am right now, and I probably won't survive this chase for much long…considering they sent him after me…you can carry on the legacy. Don't let them find you. Don't let them take the truth.

Oh God, they're here.

They brought…I have to go. Just read these. Everything will be clear in due time. I've included the history of the AI testing…all the blueprints, all the schematics, the whereabouts of the remaining subjects, pictures, and the story up until now. I hope you'll keep them safe.

Yours truly,

Santha

**END OF LOG**

**FILES HAVE BEEN EMBEDDED IN THE MESSAGE. READ ENCRYPTED CODES AND CONTINUE?**

**Y N**

**THE CHOICE IS YOURS.**


	2. FILE ALPHA

…**Processing Request.**

**OPENING CORE FILES…DONE**

**REMOVING SPYWARE…DONE**

**THREATS…ZERO**

**File open—Title: Important History of the Black Caps**

**DATA LOG: ALPHA**

**LOCAL: Somewhere over the English Channel; 02:00 hours, SMT**

**DATE: February 14, 2041**

"The lot of you have been chosen specially from the new recruits—" The aged army man began, pacing the line with his hands clasped behind his back. He gave no one a passing glance, but instead kept staring forward, as if his eyes were fixed there. Jack stood at attention in the middle of the line. He tried to look orderly and neat as possible. He was, after all, the chosen leader. But, the truth was, he could hardly wait. He was shaking in his shoes with anticipation.

"—your skills on the field are unmatched. Your wits, legendary. You've managed to pass every test we've thrown at you with flying colors."

Quickly, Jack peered at his new comrades. They all ranged, in appearance at least, from eight to seventeen years old, with himself and another boy beside him being the oldest and this pipsqueak named Simon being the youngest. Everyone specialized in something different…everyone was good at something. He tried to remind himself of that.

"From this day forward, you will be known as the Black Caps!"

…

The voice of the grizzled instructor's final words to them rang in Jack's ears as he shot up in his bunk and slammed his forehead against the one above him. Whoever slept above made no sign that it had bothered them. Either that or they simply weren't there. It was probably the latter.

Slowly, carefully, Jack clambered out of bed and made his way to the front of the barracks. His stealth dissipated into the still night air as the floor jolted underneath him and sent him tumbling to the ground. He growled and spit out a mouthful of bloody saliva. God, he hated planes. Jack much preferred to have his feet on the ground. Standing up, he burst through the door at the end of the rows upon rows of beds angrily. However, the seriousness was lost as the craft jolted again and sent him face-first into the floor.

At the front of this new room, the control room, the captain's chair spun around and the boy in it gave a mighty grin. Out of two others looking out of the wide, wrapping windshield, a lanky, brown-haired one hurriedly tried to regain control of the abandoned aircraft.

"Maurice!" Jack groaned, struggling to lift himself up without falling back down again, "Turn around and steer the damn plane!"

The boy in the chair, Maurice, rolled his pale grey eyes and took the controls back from the lanky boy. Jack stumbled over and gripped the edges of the chair for support.

"You idiot." Jack scolded, "I can't believe you're actually supposed to be good at this sort of thing."

"I _am_ the designated driver!" Maurice joked, "You should really leave the criticizing to Bill though, Jack. I think he's got that area pretty thoroughly covered."

The other boy, the one who'd taken over earlier for Maurice's carelessness, shrugged apathetically and kept his gaze on the clouds outside the windshield. Bill was always like this; however, it was a calm, Zen-like silence. Whereas, the boy on the other side of Maurice, Roger, had an air about him that made people think he was plotting something. Jack often found it strange how two people, though similar in sound, could be so entirely different in feel. From the corner of his eye, he saw the dark-haired Roger shift a red-eyed glance his way and swallowed a shudder. Sometimes he felt as though Roger could read his thoughts.

"What's our ETA?" Jack asked, trying to change his mindset.

"About ten minutes, General." Bill muttered. Maurice gave a thumbs-up from the chair and started running his mouth again.

"We're making record time! Just wait until the chairman hears how early we were! Man, to see the look on his face—haha! It'll be priceless, I bet! And those losers down there won't see us comin' either!"

"Shut up, Maurice." Jack and Bill said in unison.

"Ah, you guys are no fun." Maurice frowned and started bringing the nose of the small plane down. "So," He continued after a while, "How many of you guys am I dropping down here?"

"Just Roger, Bill and I."

"No Simon?!" Maurice exclaimed.

"He stays here." Jack explained in turn, "I can't trust you, alone, as our comms head anymore. Not after last time."

"Hehehe…Sorry general." The wild-haired pilot chuckled, "I just assumed that since you brought both robo-cops, you'd use both." This comment earned Maurice a smack to the back of the head, courtesy of Bill.

"Ow!"

"Be respectful." Bill warned lowly, casting a glance at Roger, who didn't seem to be paying any attention. He just leaned on the stock of his old sniper rifle and kept looking out at the coming storm clouds. He always looked mildly angry, so it was hard to tell if the phrase had upset him at all.

Jack intervened quickly, "It doesn't matter what they are…we've all got a little bit in us too, so…we're all soldiers, you know?" Roger finally moved and sighed, starting out of the control room with a precise slowness.

"You can stop kissing asses, Jack," He hissed as he exited, "we're nearly there."

Maurice stifled a laugh as Jack gaped. That…that was no way to address a superior officer! Grinning just slightly, Bill laid a hand on Jack's shoulder and also started out.

"Can't say you didn't have that coming." He said in that strange accent of his. He was the only one from the group to come from out of England. Instead, he'd lived in America for most of his life and immigrated later. It was a miracle he'd been accepted into her majesty's military at all.

"A-alright." Jack dismissed through gritted teeth, "radio us when it's time to drop. I'll be in the back."

"Right, General!" Maurice teased, going heavy on the controls and singing a little tune, "We're going down~~!"

"Right." Jack pushed through the door and went back into the small barracks room. Roger and Bill were seated on opposite bunks, loading assorted rifles with clips and arming themselves to the teeth.

"What's it this time?" Jack asked nonchalantly, taking a hold of a rope on the low-hanging ceiling just in case.

"Majority wins." Bill said around a serrated blade held in his teeth while he strapped up his boots. At first, Jack was confused. Then Bill passed the deadly weapon to Roger and it cleared up. Bill always used his longer, sharpened, dual-knives if it came down to close combat. He thought them more…humane. He attributed this to the fact that his father was in WW2 and saw some 'twisted things', and that he would never kill needlessly and painfully without cause. Bill was strange like that.

Roger, on the other hand, had a lot of fun with a job. _A lot_. Perhaps a bit too much.

"Ten bucks on Roger." Jack smiled.

"I'm not even gonna take that bet." Bill laughed quietly, "I've lost too often to see the point in that."

"Damn," Jack shot back, "I really needed a new hat."

They both laughed and exchanged friendly banter like this until the order came over the intercom for the drop-off. It was go-time.

_Finally_, Jack thought, _we can get off this piece-of-crap plane._

**END OF DATA LOG: ALPHA**

**OPEN NEXT FILE?**

**Y N**

**THE CHOICE IS YOURS**

**YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS BEFORE THIS SERIES OF MESSAGES SELF-DESTRUCTS.**

**GOOD LUCK.**


	3. FILE BETA

_You scramble furiously with the laptop as the message appears on the black screen. Self-destruction!? That wasn't in the letter you aunt sent you!_

**10…9…8…7...6…5…4…**

_Your heart rate accelerates to an alarming speed, thumping in your chest as you press every button and key available to you. Nothing. Curses, Auntie! What the heck did you embed in these files!? The thought runs through your head much more than once._

**3…2…**

_You squint your eyes shut and wait for the end to come. Only to find that it never does. Upon opening your eyes once more, pale and ice-blue, you sigh in frustration and frown. A new message has appeared on the screen._

**JUST KIDDING, SWEETHEART. THE NEXT FILE HAS BEEN LOADED FOR YOU ALREADY AS AN APOLOGY. :D**

_Curses, Aunt Santha! She scared the bloody bejeezuz out of you on more than one occasion. You grumble in dissent and click the Y to open the next data log entry. Time to stop this lollygagging around and get to reading already!_

**DATA LOG: BETA**

**LOCAL: NORTHERN BORDER OF FRANCE; 02:23 SMT**

**DATE: FEBRUARY 14, 2041**

The plane's engines came to a dull, muffled purr as the back hatch of the plane popped open and revealed the star-scratched world below. It spun in dizzying circles as the craft started its landing path unto the rooftops beneath Jack's very feet. It seemed at times like these that even the cities he didn't bother to know the names of bowed to him. He could conquer anything. He was part of the Black Caps, wasn't he? The elite, the best there was, undefeated, the choicest of proverbial meat slices on the Christmas ham. You know, all that cliché crap he didn't enjoy much.

The wind bit at him this time of year, and dug its icy fingernails underneath of his thin black clothes. Unlike Roger and Bill, who hid underneath a layer of therma-knit shirts and cloaks, brand-new night vision goggles and their normal uniforms, Jack had to drop in looking relatively normal. The package couldn't be retrieved if he looked like some sort of military half-breed between a bug and a robot with the latest guns and munitions. After all, the people he'd be meeting with thought he was there to talk about negotiating a merger between Gladiator and their small business firm.

As if.

Right on time, with a nod and a crooked, jagged smile, Bill and Roger leaped straight down and out of the still-hovering aircraft. The only proof they'd been beside him a moment ago was the slight wush in the air their coats created as they leaped out. Other than that, it was silent. Jack was left alone with his thoughts…and regrets. He wished to the point of pain that he could bring a few knives with him to the meeting. However, with his thin clothes they'd be noticed right from the start.

No, today he'd be going in with nothing but his fists and his wits. Oh, and a little back-up too.

"Ready, Jack?" A voice came over the coms array wired to his brain. Everyone in his squad had it; it was required. It also had the strange effect of slowing their aging process…So, Jack Merridew had been sixteen for over ten years now. It seemed as if the chairman didn't like changing out his guard. "We're coming in hot. Looks like Pierre brought a few friends to this party."

"How many friends are we talking about here?" Jack grimaced as he took in the rooftop coming up in his line of sight. He could see the man he was supposed to be meeting with, along with a bulky other that seemed to be a body guard, but other than that it was empty. _Spec ops_, he begrudgingly thought, _hard to shoot if you can't flush them out first…_

"I'd say…based on Simon's guesses, of course…" Maurice's voice went on uneasily, "And Pig's help…maybe…twenty…"

"Twenty?" Jack growled.

"Twenty hundred."

"Well, well, happy birthday to us." Jack rolled his eyes, "Pierre, you son of a gun, I don't know where you managed to hide that many men…but I have a good guess…"

"I think we can handle it." Maurice cackled through Jack's ears, "Now, if it were twenty hundred and a half on the other hand…"

"Just land the damn plane." Jack retorted through a grin. He was getting anxious now. No use in getting cold feet over something so practical. They'd dealt with worse before, right? That given, they'd had more back-up then. However, Jack clearly thought they could handle this. And if he thought so, then it would be so.

"General Merridew, prepare for landing." Maurice joked as the plane slowly and tentatively hovered above the correct rooftop and descended. The burners on the bottom were now showing their use; the craft could not just fly like a plane, but function as a helicopter when landing in a tight spot. "Make sure you have all of your luggage before exiting the H88-B49, and thank you for choosing air Maurice as you mode of travel. Have a nice trip."

"Thanks, Maurice." Jack muttered under his breath as he stepped off the back of the plane, "It's not as if I had a choice, though."

"Hey, watch yourself or I'm leaving you in France."

Jack brushed his pilot's threat aside as he walked closer to the man he'd come here to meet with; Mr. Pierre Montague, head of the Montague Metal company, a small business started on the French side of the English Channel by himself not four years prior. Since then, they'd flourished. They'd made much business with Gladiator; their metal was choice and quality, not to be compared to any other. But, really now, a merger? That was just plain ridiculous. Gladiator did not have friends. Only enemies, and allies whom it could benefit from. They were known for sucking the very lifeblood from all other companies unfortunate enough to challenge it.

Pierre was a thin, tall man who smelled of wine and dirty streets. Behind a think, flat moustache was a lip that had never seen a smile, and skin that stretched tight across his entire head. It was so tight, in fact, that no hair dared to grow atop him; just on the sides. It was akin to somebody going off and mowing the grass off of the top of a hill, but leaving the rest untouched. Jack's eyes flitted to the burly man beside him, a dark, brute-like creature. He'd be terrified had he been normal. However, he was not normal.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Montague, pleasure to meet you." Jack smiled cheaply. He offered no hand. Pierre looked at him through narrow eyes, black like animal's eyes. Jack seemed to grin with his own, ice-blue ones.

"Yes, and you must be…the representative from Gladiator, I presume?" Pierre accused in his thick, stupid accent, "I had no idea they employed children."

Jack smirked and crumpled up his freckled face, revealing a set of too-white teeth and a dastardly façade. "Oh, but they do. I had no idea Montague Metals was run by such an insufferable prick like you."

The silence was thick and full of static. Jack could nearly hear the comms array of Pierre's fire team crackling, filling the air with sound. It stunk like their country did; of filth. Of all the places he'd been, France was the worst. He hated the French. Everything about them made him want to puke.

"Hey, Jack." Maurice came into his senses again through the technology stuck in his head. Jack tried not to respond; it would give him away. Instead, he remained utterly silent, not giving the slightest sign that he'd heard Maurice. "I'm up, up and away for now. I'll see you in ten."

"Let's get down to business, shall we?" Jack offered, his voice still laced with venom. Now matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to remove it. "I came here to talk to you about the merger, not suffer through bouts of pointless insults."

"Oui." Pierre sighed, "I'd like to know why your chairman chose such a…strange location for our meeting, though, before we proceed."

"Because," Jack answered plainly, "we have some business with you other than the merger." Finally, getting to the point. It was making Jack tremble with excitement.

"Oh?"

Jack shifted his glance slightly. Yes, that was what he thought he saw. The bodyguard, two o'clock, pressing the button on the top of his wristwatch three times, consecutively. Normally, there'd be no reason to do that. However, these weren't normal circumstances. When he had two thousand special troops at his disposal, and the man who paid his bills was running the risk of being uncovered, of course he'd make use of his equipment. Jack grinned a little.

He took a few steps forward, looming, and Pierre took a few steps back. When Jack spoke next, he used the inflictions in his words like bullets, like daggers. "You, Pierre Montague, Chairman has a bone to pick with you, and we've come to sort it out." He sneered, "You stole something from our company, and we want it back."

"Don't come any closer!" Pierre warned, "I have a squad ready to kill you if needed!"

"I know, me too." Jack shrugged, "And guess what, they're better. Now give me what I came here for, Pierre, and I'll leave you alive so you can go back to whatever pathetic activities inhabited your life."

"You wouldn't dare kill me! Do you know how much power I have in this city, you lousy rep?!" He shrilly cried, nearly tripping on a piece of piping that lay at his feet. That's another reason the chairman chose this location; it wasn't very easy to navigate. That gave Jack Merridew about five minutes before the ops were upon him. He well knew this.

"Try me." He smiled.

"Back down, sir." The bodyguard tested. Jack took in his stance; hand in his suit pocket, legs evenly set on the concrete, hard to take down. He probably had his finger on a trigger right now, waiting for the right moment to strike.

In the corner of his vision, not visible to anybody else, two little lights blinked their readiness. Jack laughed. It was time to finish this. Pierre didn't have the package, but the package had a tracker on it. They could retrieve it well enough with him dead; of course, that would reduce their stealthiness by quite a bit, but it would be worth it in the end.

In a split second, they were all at arms, and a stand-off had commenced. Jack had death in his eyes; the will to kill, even as he stood, fingers forming an invisible shape where a gun wasn't. The other two looked at him skeptically.

"You don't have a weapon, sir, back down and we'll let you go!" The bodyguard shouted.

"Back down! Back down!" Jack taunted, laughing viciously and jumping a few steps forward. It appeared to startle peppy-la-pew and his American bodyguard.

"You're crazy!" Pierre screamed.

"No." Jack murmured, pointing his finger at Pierre's skull, looking him straight in the eyes, "I'm the General. And you're screwed."

He pulled the non-existent trigger and Pierre's brains were spread across the rooftop. Another swift pull did the same to his bodyguard and they were both dead. The shots rang out across the thin, cold, pre-morning air. Jack chuckled as Roger and Bill stepped out from behind him and joined him on the prowl.

"That was a little risky." Bill muttered in disapproval, sighing heavily. The barrel of his silver pistol was still smoking from the shots. Roger snorted and kicked Pierre's shattered remnants aside. He didn't seem to be too pleased with the job. Probably because it wasn't him who had killed the lame frenchie. "Next time at least give us a better vantage point. Water towers aren't too concealing, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, whatever, we got it done." Jack responded.

"Hmph." Was the only thing Roger offered as an answer.

An alarm sounded somewhere in the city.

"Well, I think it's time to get that package now." Bill grinned; and they started off into the depths of the building.

….

**FILE END.**

**OPEN NEXT FILE?**

**Y N**

**LOADING CORE FUNCTIONS…THIS MAY TAKE A WHILE**


	4. FILE CHARLIE

**FILE OPEN.**

…**.OUR ANTIVIRUS SOFTWARE HAS DETECTED A VIRUS. REMOVE?**

… **NO.**

**...LOADING...**

**...LOADING...**

**THANK YOU FOR USING GLA-**

…

**OVERRIDDEN.**

…**.**

**DATA LOG: CHARLIE**

**LOCAL: CALAIS, FRANCE; 3:37 SMT**

**DATE: FEBRUARY 14, 2041**

**..**

**..**

"JACK!" Bill shouted. It was an unnatural noise; gravelly and strained through the sound of sniper fire coming from all sides. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU LOADED A C-4 PACK IN THEIR MEETING ROOM?!"

The red-head turned and ducked swiftly as a bullet brushed through his hair, sending a few strands floating to the ground below. The surface was shiny and all-too reflective for Jack's tastes. However, it did make a nice noise when they ran on it.

"I don't know, why would you want to know?" He shot back, "And that's General Merridew to you!" Bill was backing out of the meeting room across the hall quickly, and right behind him Roger snapped somebody's neck with a fast motion. The man fell to the floor, gun still firing. Bill looked at it in disgust and ran to meet Jack, emanating indignation.

"Oh, maybe because I'd rather not be blown to high heavens, that's why." He frowned, spitting to the side and unloading a round from his sniper. It had used to be Rogers; Bill had won it in a bet. "Plus, that gives us a time limit to get what we need and get the heck out. You just made our job ten times more difficult."

"I work better under tension." Jack laughed humorously and jumped off of the table he stood on. Roger was there beside them both in an instant; he stepped on the edge of the small, rectangle table and brought his weight down on it. The fixture flipped, creating cover as the boy crouched and peered over, then proceeded to engage the enemy with too-big silver pistols. One was the same Bill had used; they traded often, or so it appeared. The rounds boomed into the already dense air, nearly shattering Jack's eardrums. Still, the rounds came forth, spewing fire and sparks into the air. Soon, Roger was all out of ammo and had to duck to reload them from his heavy supply.

"Hey, Roger?" Jack muttered. The darker boy ceased his work and looked up, fixing Jack with his transparent gaze; the wires flickered and trailed behind the thin surface of his irises. It was times like this that Jack had to swallow and remind himself to be careful. Roger was dangerous, he'd been told. Nobody really knew where he came from or what he did before being enrolled in the military academy in the winter of 1998. He'd gone through multiple surgeries from 'wounds of unknown origin' beforehand, according to the paper. However, his...lineage...made that hard to believe...after all, it was hard to believe anything could hurt Roger that bad. His technology had to be completely changed in order to save him. It made Jack think often that he'd done it to himself. Either way, he was more alien and strange than any of his other soldiers, and more terrifying too. There were rumors going around that he'd caused WW2 instead of Hitler, or that maybe Hitler even used him as a torture device. Jack didn't like to think about it, and neither did anyone else.

"Hm?" Roger grumbled.

"What's the...er...coordinates for the package?" Jack fought to stay calm.

Roger sighed and almost rolled his eyes. "Down the hall, first door to the right. Do you want me to hold your hand while you run to get it, sir?"

Jack narrowed his eyes in distrust. "No, I'm fine." He hissed, "Stay here and back Bill up. Watch my six, okay?"

"Jolly good." Roger scoffed. He jammed one last bullet into the cartridge of his left pistol and went back to firing at the pieces of spec ops that had been posted in this building. Lord only knows where the rest of them were. Jack preferred not to think about things until they came up; he relied on his instincts, his impulses, and most of all, what sounded like the most fun at the time. So, according to the last of the three, he leaped from cover and charged across the paper-strewn, thin hall. Lacking guns and wit, he rolled into the conference room and began a quick search through the miscellaneous cabinets and file folders. He came up fruitless. In the end, Jack resorted to calling in on comms back to the plane.

"Maurice," He demanded when the crackle announced that he was on. The gunfire became a low, humming drone in the background for the moment, "put Simon on."

"Yes, sir!" Maurice laughed. The line transferred to a different array.

"H-hullo, general Merridew, sir..." A small voice piped up nervously, "what can I do for you, today?"

"You're a soldier, not a grocery clerk, Simon." Jack barked, kneeling behind the wrap-around glass of the conference room to avoid being spotted by some of the frenchies passing swiftly by, "start acting like it. And, since you asked, I need a favor."

"Sir, yes, sir!" Came a response, stronger but still tentative.

"Better, now tell me what I'm looking for." Jack ordered.

"It's a smaller file." Simon responded. Jack went immediately back to the cabinet of such smaller files and flung three of the four drawers open, getting stuck at the final one. It rattled, clattered, but didn't come open. He stooped to examine it further, and found a keyhole; meanwhile, the screams had picked back up outside the room he was in, and they were closer. He was running low on time.

"Hurry it up, Simon!" Jack snarled to the air. In his head, a voice came back to him, slightly frustrated.

"The chairman's locked me out of the databases!" It said, "I need a few minutes to regain access, okay? Can you hold on?"

"No time." Jack hissed. He glanced around the room wildly, saw the smoke outside of the windows, and grabbed the nearest thing to him; it was an office supply at its finest, a stapler. He wound up his arm and brought it down fiercely on the lock of the filing cabinet. Nothing. Again, Jack looked to the glass. Curses, they were advancing! "Simon!"

"Working!"

"Not hard enough, I think! Put Maurice back on for a moment, would you? Call me back when you have the package's information."

"But, sir—" Jack switched off the conversation with a mere thought and went back to smashing open the drawer. The metal stapler was putting in plenty of dents and bruises, but other than that, nothing was happening. Finally, he admitted defeat against the common cubicle—there was nothing in training that prepared him for this.

Luckily, he hadn't listened to training any.

"Jack, what's up?" Maurice's voice came into his ear in the middle of a fervent search for more fodder to throw at the lock.

"Nothing, but I need Simon on the rooftops, stat."

"For what, sir?"

"A diversion." Jack replied flatly. Suddenly, another voice broke into the array.

"Sir, with all due respect, this is getting you nowhere." Bill announced his presence, listening in on the general's communications with the other members of their small squad, "You can't kill Simon like that just because he's makin' you mad."

"Shut up, Bill." Jack groaned. In frustration, he kicked the filing cabinet. Much to his dismay, relief, and anger, the lock popped right off. "Oh, bloody hell."

"Sir, we're coming up to your location." Bill said, "the ops are gone." The field cut out for the last time. Jack sighed and opened the drawer he'd finally gained access to, and grabbed its only content: a manilla folder labeled with Gladiator's sigil, the 'mechanized' all-seeing eye. Looked as if Jack wouldn't be needing Simon's help anymore, now would he?! After all, Simon was just batty anyway. Both of em, Roger and Simon, the 'government-issued' super-soldiers, as the files said, were crazy. Of course, Jack had long since realized that they were defect constructs from the old, 'canceled', artificial intelligence program run by gladiator. They were the only ones left, or so it was said. The rest, failed attempts due the original inventor's mysterious disappearance, were all put of their misery long before Jack's crew even graduated from training. All that was left of them were rumors and ghost stories. Then again, there were the lesser AI, the ones that weren't people-based, the ones that worked in houses and helped people live on a daily basis. Those, the chairman kept. They were for the people, not made out of the people. So, Jack guessed it was okay. As long as they didn't pass out to recharge their batteries, or go haywire at unexpected moments.

Jack was snapped out of his musings by the arrival of others in the conference room; Bill and Roger, who had once again traded weapons. Bill now had both pistols, and Roger had his sniper back. There must have been another bet.

"Is the job done?" Jack asked, standing back up. Bill shrugged and Roger shot a deathly glance in Jack's general direction.

"More or less." Bill replied finally, "How 'bout yours, general?"

"I could say the same." Jack chuckled. He tossed the manilla folder towards Bill, who made a quick save and caught it just before it hit the carpeted floor. The underling proceeded to shove it away, where it wouldn't get ruined.

"We better get moving." Bill went on, "They'll be sending more sooner or later."

"Sure...whatever." Jack agreed, "To the rooftops? We should be able to signal Maurice there."

"Why not just use Comms? Isn't that what its for?" Roger snarled.

"Yeah but—"

**END OF ENTRY: CHARLIE**

**CONTINUE? Y N**

**THE CHOICE IS YOURS**


End file.
